


I like pretending

by Nami



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, M/M, one sided Dante/Nero, pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24319945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nami/pseuds/Nami
Summary: He appeared noiselessly at the entrance of the shop one cloudy evening, dressed in rags, like a bad omen. Nero wasn’t sure what to do, but he was tired of being alone, of being left alone so Sparda stayed at Dante’s house.---Sparda stays and Nero sees too much of Dante in him.
Relationships: Nero/Sparda (Devil May Cry)
Kudos: 42





	I like pretending

**Author's Note:**

> This is a weird fic. It's really short but every time I tried to make it longer everything just crumbled down. So, please, enjoy my first finished Sparda/Nero excuse of a fic before I finish two porn-ish pieces with them.
> 
> Beated by Vio and Vanilla ♥

**I like pretending**

He appeared noiselessly at the entrance of the shop one cloudy evening, dressed in rags, like a bad omen. Nero wasn’t sure what to do, but he was tired of being alone, of being _left_ alone so Sparda stayed at Dante’s house.

Sparda was much more than Fortuna’s tales told about him, so _human_ in ways Nero couldn’t wrap his head about. And there was just so much of Dante in Sparda too, aside from physical similarity: his laughter, his mischievous smile when he teased Nero, his eyes sparkling with mirth, his closed off, distant face. Even their fighting styles were similar. Yet there were also things that didn’t let Nero never completely forget Sparda _wasn’t_ Dante. 

Nero still liked to spend time with him though, liked to learn more about him and Sparda was just as eager as he was, starved for human contact after years in hell, trapped by Mundus. And if Nero let himself dream, from time to time, that he was with Dante then it was only for him to know that. He didn’t hurt anyone but himself doing that.

After all, Dante would never look at Nero the way Nero needed it, he would never touch Nero like Nero longed for it, he would never tell Nero he wouldn’t leave him again—

Would he even come back?

Nero thought he was careful, just as careful as he was with Dante or even more, yet it was too easy to forget himself in Sparda’s presence, it was too easy to latch on this companionship he could never have with Dante –Dante, who guarded himself so perfectly despite all appearances. 

It was too easy, too irresponsible, too fucking fantastic to give in and drunkenly kiss Sparda with everything Nero had got, all those months of loneliness and sadness, all those years of wishing for something he would never have.

He expected to get hit but Sparda only pulled Nero back, looking at him with understanding of thousands of lifetimes.

“I’m not him,” Sparda whispered oh so gently as if Nero was a fragile, delicate porcelain figure in his hands. Who knew? Maybe, for a being like him, Nero felt just like that. Sparda brushed his finger along Nero’s swollen lips and Nero parted his mouth, letting it press slightly inside. “But you don’t care, do you?”

“I—” Nero hiccupped, torn between wanting to crawl on Sparda’s laps and running away, the gravity of what he had done slowly working its way through Nero’s drunk mind. “I just—”

“Hush... I’ll take care of you,” Sparda murmured, brushing his hand on Nero’s back in soothing circles as if Nero was a scared animal. 

Nero _did_ feel like one though, unsure of what to do, his instincts going haywire. He wanted Dante but there was Sparda _welcoming_ him, not pushing him away and he smelled and looked just enough like Dante for Nero to be able to pretend Dante was there, touching Nero. He whined in distress, the sound too inhuman in his own ears; it made Sparda smile at Nero though, with fangs poking out from his lips.

“Let me do it.” Sparda moved his face closer to Nero’s and Nero nodded, looking into those bottomless eyes and seeing only his own downfall.

Nero didn’t protest being kissed again, he didn’t protest when Sparda pulled him down onto the couch and took off Nero’s clothes. Just for tonight he didn’t want to think anymore. And when Sparda sank into him, sealing their filthy act, Nero only closed his eyes, _pretending_.

He was getting too good at it.


End file.
